


True Colors

by unheardmelodies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, F/M, Harry is a bit sad in this, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, but all is well in the end, this is the most self indulgent thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unheardmelodies/pseuds/unheardmelodies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title Based on Cyndi Lauper's song True Colors. </p><p>Violet isn't worried about meeting her soulmate. The universe has her back. Until it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Colors

**Author's Note:**

> This is 1000% unbetad so read at your own risk. It's been burning a hole in my google docs since march so I decided to publish it to get it out there. If you see any mistakes, please let me know. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!

Violet can’t stop smiling. Mostly because her roommate, Dottie is waxing poetic about her new soulmate over the phone, her voice sounds gooey and mushy and Violet is picturing little hearts and birds flying in a circle around her head as she rambles on and on. Plus, she’s having a kick ass day in what she’s sure is the best year of her life.  So far, anyway. It’s only February. But still.

 

She’d clocked the shortest time ever on her new running route, sold a painting that will pay her rent for the next three months, and her house mate and best friend Dottie’s soulmate mark finally filled in. After deciding to try a new place for coffee, Dottie stopped at a trendy place in Santa Monica and there she was. Her soulmate. Dottie never thought it would be a girl, but now she says she can’t imagine anyone else. That’s the thing about soulmates. It never makes sense until you meet them and then it just _does._ Or at least that’s what Violet’s been told.

 

At twenty-two she still hasn’t met her soulmate, the one who has a pattern identical to hers on their body. But whatever, there’s still time. An article in a recent issue of _Vogue_ said the average age in the U.S. for finding one’s soulmate is twenty-nine. And that’s quite alright with Violet, thank you very much.

 

“-and she’s so pretty. God, Violet. I didn’t know anyone could be this pretty,” Dottie gushes over the phone. She’s on minute thirty-five of explaining everything she’s learned about her soulmate in the short five hours she’s known her. Violet had put the phone on speaker and let her gush while she curled her hair. “You’re still coming, right? I want you to meet her. She said the funniest thing-”

 

“Yeah! Of course I’m still coming. I’m going to meet you there, remember?” Violet says, gently cutting off yet another story of just how lovely Christine is.

 

“Yeah! Isn’t is so cool how she knows the manager at Greystone Manor? She said we’ll be VIP! Well, until a pre-booked group takes it at nine, but still! I’ve always wanted to go!” Dottie says.

 

Actually, Violet actively avoids clubs like Greystone Manor, not that she’d ever get in if she wanted to anyway. But she wants to meet Christine and nothing is going to spoil her perfect day. Not even the rich and famous douche bags that go to places like Greystone Manor to spend thousands on bottle service just to see and be seen. Excessive wealth is Violet's least favorite thing about LA. That and the pollution. It spoils the light.

 

“Wait, you didn’t tell me what color it is!” Violet says as she brushes her hair.

 

“What color what is?” Dottie asks.

 

“Your mark, what color did it end up turning?” Violet asks as she looks at her own mark on her inner right bicep. White and raised like a scar, itching to be filled in. No one ever knows what color their mark is going to be, there’s really no rhyme or reason to it, but some end up being the most beautiful colors. Violet’s always been slightly obsessed with people’s soulmark colors. It probably has something to do with being a painter.

 

“Oh, it’s like this fiery red and Christine’s is green-”

 

“Like Christmas!” Dottie and Violet say together and then laugh.

 

“That’s perfect, I can’t wait to meet her. I’ll be there in an hour.”

 

“Awesome! Love you!”

 

“Love you!”

 

Violet hangs up the phone and goes to find shoes that aren’t covered in paint.

 

____

 

Christine is a lovely person and effortlessly cool and she and Dottie make sense together, like most soulmates do when you see them side by side. Tattoos line the length of her arms and her hair is asymmetrical in a shocking and gorgeous shade of blue. Next to Christine’s pale skin and natural red hair they look like two sides to the same coin. Like yin and yang. Violet and Christine get along immediately especially after Christine asks to see some of her artwork and after Violet pulls up her website on her phone, Christine immediately asks her to design her next tattoo.

 

But Violet spends the whole time in the VIP booth counting down the minutes till the next group comes and kicks them out so they can go back to theirs and finish the night in relative quiet. The bass is giving her a headache. Violet’s relieved when nine rolls around and she can get the hell out of there. Although, even Violet concedes that it was cool to see Rihanna in person.

 

It’s not till they’re outside the front doors waiting for the valet to pull their cars around that Violet realizes she’s forgotten her phone inside. Shit.

 

_______________

 

Harry’s having the worst day. Literally the worst. He’d barely slept the night before and his alarm went off at a painful five am so the band could do more promo for the new album. Lou had chastised him for the circles under his eyes and the interviewers had grilled the band with the same ten questions that he found degrading to both his bandmates and their fans. Who _cares_ what he looks for in a girl?

 

There’s also another click-bait article about how he hates his bandmates and can’t wait to leave them behind. After Zayn left it’s only gotten worse. The rags constantly painting him as a bitter pop star who’s pissed that “Zayn got there first”. It’s not that he never wants to try going solo. But not now. And he hates what it does to the fans. The boys know better and laugh it off, but the fans get so stressed out and it stresses _him_ out. It’s a whole cycle and Harry wants to bury his head in the sand some days because why can’t people let him live is goddamned life?

 

But the thing that launched him into a tailspin was the mention of his soulmate mark. It’s no secret to the press that his sister, Gemma had just found her soulmate a week ago. And while Harry is thrilled for her and he thinks Peter is perfect for her as he was always going to be, the media are using it as an opportunity to drag back up everything he’d ever said about his mark. Well, not really said, more like had been pushed on him as a kid and he went along with it because who can see consequences when you’re sixteen and are told the success of your band hinges on how sexually available you appear to your fans? In hindsight it sounds so ridiculous, but he was young and scared and hates how no one will ever let it go.

 

_“So, Harry, has Gemma finding her soulmate got you running scared?” Melissa, Harry thinks her name is Melissa, asks him._

 

_“Why would it have me running scared?” Harry asks, trying to be polite, but feels immediately defensive._

 

_“Well it’s no secret that you don’t want to be tied down by a soulmate!” She answers, smiling with her too-white teeth._

 

_Before Harry can answer, Louis (bless him), interjects about how it’s got him scared because his sisters are too young to find their soul mates and he’ll chase anyone off who comes near them. He talks long enough that their time is up and Harry can breathe again._

 

And he hates it. Hates that all people see is this version of him that’s been manufactured to increase their image to sell papers and records. And, okay, it’s not like he’s celibate, he likes to have fun and date just like everyone else, but the word “womanizer” makes him want to throw up.

 

So, if he’s honest with himself, he _is_ scared. Harry’s scared that when push comes to shove his soulmate won’t want him, that whomever it is will have this picture of who they think he is and will sprint off in the other direction. Despite the fact that everyone has a soulmate, only eighty-five percent of couples actually make it. He’s only 21 years old, but Harry is convinced he’s going to be part of that fifteen percent, doomed to loneliness and misery. Normally he can ignore this fact, can push these thought away because he has such a lovely life despite all the bullshit.  But not today.

 

Today he needs a drink. He needs ten.

 

Thankfully Jeff gets him and the band a VIP booth at Greystone Manor to blow off some steam after their long day. Harry hasn’t been to a club in a while but they all need it and when they get there Harry immediately starts pouring sugary booze down his throat and tries to let the easy banter of his bandmates cheer him up. It’s not working.

 

________

 

Christine gets Violet back through Greystone’s front door to locate her phone. Hopefully someone has picked it up and dropped it at a lost and found somewhere. God, she wonders what’s in the lost and found here. Rubies, diamonds, bags of cocaine? She’s crossing her fingers that everyone here is wealthy enough not to steal her phone because she doesn't want to spend any of the money she made off her painting today on a new phone.  

 

Unfortunately, when she asks the coat check girl about a lost and found she looks at Violet like she has three heads. So she has to push past crowds of people and hope the bouncer guarding the VIP section recognizes her, or at least has the heart to ask the group sitting there now if they’ve seen her phone.

 

Fortunately, he does recognize her and lets her by without Violet having to explain herself. He just pulls back the rope and smiles at her, probably not realizing that her group left fifteen minutes ago. Violet thanks whatever good karma waves she’s riding on today.

 

She approaches the booth slowly, not wanting to bother the small group that now occupies it. She prays her phone is still there, unscathed and not submerged in liquor. Getting closer, Violet counts seven boys, all with impeccable hair wearing expensive looking shirts. One of them, the one with the long brown curly hair is definitely wearing a Gucci shirt, and she’s pretty sure the one with the buzzed brown hair is wearing a rolex. And they all look vaguely familiar, but she can’t place them. Like she dreamed them up but can’t remember what it was about.

 

None of them see her until she’s right in front of them.

 

“Excuse me,” she starts but one of them, tall and older looking than the rest, interrupts her.

 

“Can we get some more water?” he asks her indicating the empty glass bottles of water on the table.

 

“Sorry, I’m not- I don’t work here I actually wanted to ask you-” the one in the Gucci shirt scoffs and rolls his eyes. He looks rather drunk, a sheet of sweat visible on his forehead his eyes glassy and unfocused. Violet’s arm itches and her face burns hot as her heart beats like butterfly wings against her ribs. She never really cares what people think about her, but for some reason she’s pleading with every deity that she not embarrass herself right now. Not in front of these particular people.

 

“Do you want a picture, love?” a boy with fluffy brown hair asks her. She hears his thick British accent even over the music.

 

“No?” She says, because why would she want a picture? She just wants her freaking phone and for her face to be a less embarrassing shade of magenta. Thank god for low lighting.

 

“I left my-”

 

“Listen, we appreciate it, but we’re just trying to have a private night out,” Gucci shirt says in a drawling British accent.

 

“Of course. I just need-”

 

“Just one night off from people interrupting us. That’s why we got the VIP booth. Who let you back here anyway?”

 

“Mate!” The blonde one hits his arm looking as embarrassed as Violet feels.

 

“Just not now, okay?” He asks her, his eyes meet hers and she wants to cry. Violet _never_ cries. And her arm still itches under her jacket and she just wants to go home and never come out again so she can live the rest of her life like the mole person she is. Because for some reason she really cares what Gucci shirt thinks about her and the angry, vacant look he’s giving her makes her feel like the earth is crumbling under her feet. It feels like heartbreak and there’s no rational explanation for it.  

 

She’s also angry because this is exactly what she hates about LA. This entitled air of importance everyone seems to carry around with them in their designer bags.

 

“Look,” Violet starts, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin in the air a fraction. She refuses let these British Redcoat asshats get the better of her. “I was sitting here earlier and I left my phone and was just coming back to see if it’s still in the booth and if you’re done being a _dick_ could you check if it’s here?”  

 

“Whoops,” the blonde one says directly to Gucci shirt while buzz cut stands up immediately and starts looking for her phone.

 

“I didn’t- I don’t-” Gucci shirt looks rather sorry, but Violet purposefully ignores him and the growing throbbing of her arm as she crouches down to try and find it on the floor.

 

“Ummm-” fluffy hair emerges from under the table, her phone in his hand recognizable by the Van Gogh art on the case. The screen is shattered, looking like someone had stepped on it several times.

 

“That seems about right,” Violet says and cradles her broken iphone in her hand. Tears cloud her vision because she’s embarrassed, sad, and out about six hundred dollars. Her perfect day shattered like her phone, the hot throbbing of her arm echoing her heartbeat as the whole table stares at her.

 

“Thanks,” she manages, barely choking back tears and scurries away from the booth. She thinks she hears someone call out to her as she leaves but she doesn’t stop till she’s outside breathing in the sharp February air.

 

She cries on Dottie a little on the way home because she’s so embarrassed and feeling something else earth-shattering she can’t put her finger on. But it’s not till they get home and she’s undressing in her room that she catches a glimpse of the dark purple shade of her now filled-in soulmate mark.

 

______________

 

The second the girl leaves Harry drags Niall to the toilets. It’s been ages since Harry had a asthma attack but he feels close to one now, his lungs tight in his chest. He’s too drunk and miserable to deal with it on his own. He feels like he’s just ruined his whole life and he can’t get away from the feeling that something big has just happened, but he’s too drunk to register why.

 

Niall has Basil stand outside the VIP bathroom so no one else will enter while Harry has a meltdown.

 

“Mate, calm down.” Niall holds Harry by the shoulders to stop his pacing but it’s no use. Harry is stronger than Niall and pushes him off to continue walking the length of the bathroom, his boots clicking on the marble floor.

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I can’t- I feel- I can’t,” Harry’s chest is heaving and Niall leads him over to the sink to start running some cool water. He grabs a towel and runs it under the tap, rings it out, and lifts up Harry’s hair to place the cool material on Harry’s neck.

 

“What’s going on, Haz?” Niall asks.

 

“I don’t know. I can’t calm down. I feel like I’ve forgotten something, something big, but I can’t remember what it is!” Harry rasps out. Niall is still pressing the towel into his neck while Harry leans on the porcelain sink his hands white-knuckling the sides of the bowl.

 

“Is it because you feel bad?” Niall soothes. “You weren’t very nice to that girl.”

 

Harry feels his lungs constrict some more and he chokes on air. He’s still too hot so he turns on the tap again and rolls up his sleeves to get his hands under the water and splash some on his face.

 

“Harry,” Niall says and drops the towel from his neck.

 

“Hmm-” he answers, water dripping down his face.

 

“Harry!” Niall says, excited now and grabs his right arm.

 

After whipping the hair out of his face and rubbing the water out of his eyes Harry looks down at his arm. With the blue material of his shirt out of the way, Harry sees his mark running the length of his forearm like it always has, but now it’s the color of a tangerine.

 

He runs his finger around the pattern of it, revels in how it throbs and tingles where he touches it. Harry barely makes it to the toilet before he throws up everything he’s eaten that day.

 

Harry’s sure the paps get several pictures of him stumbling out of the club, Niall on one arm, Louis on the other, tears and sweat on his face more drunk then he remembers being in living memory. He trips on his way into the car and, even through his drunken haze he can hear the shudder of a hundred cameras and knows there would be a hundred new articles about his “wild partying” in the morning. He barely cares.

 

_____

 

Violet does not sleep. She tosses and turns the whole night and keeps switching on the lights to make sure it’s really there frantically checking that the inky purple stain of her mark isn’t some sort of bad dream. Every time she confirms it, she feels her heart break a little more. There’s an emptiness in her chest and rolling waves of nausea course through her making her mouth feel like cotton.

 

There’s only one thing to take comfort in; she has an excuse for getting so emotional. Soulmate bonds are tricky things, and everyone knows how important the first couple of weeks are for newly found soulmates. It’s the reason why Dottie spent five hours in Christine’s coffee shop while she worked yesterday. Early on separation is unhealthy. Symptoms manifest as anxiety and sickness. Initially, many find it impossible to be apart from their soulmates for more than a few hours. Of course it eventually goes away, the mania and fear passes once things are more settled. But Violet doesn't really have that option right now.

 

First of all, she doesn’t even know his _name._ She’s sure it’s Gucci shirt. Positive. And it’s not like there aren’t places she can go to look for him. Numerous websites are built for this specific scenario. It’s more common than people like to admit, you speak to someone in passing, cross their path on the street, or stand in a crowded train car with them and your mark appears, but you have no idea who it is.

 

But everyone wants that movie moment of _knowing_ the minute you see someone. The fireworks and immediate love connection. But it’ different for every soulmate pair and many don’t recognize what’s happening to them before it’s too late. So, you go online and search through missed connection websites until you find your match. It’s anticlimactic, but it gets the job done.  

 

But Violet isn’t sure that will work for her. He was so _annoyed_ by her and looked through her like she wasn’t even there. As the hours pass, her dread grows. Was she going to be a statistic? One of the few who’s completely rejected by her soulmate? Would he even bother to look for her? Violet never worried about it before. She always believed that the universe had her back, that everything would sort itself out in time. That’s what the mark is for, so she doesn’t have to work to find her other half. Now, though, it’s hard not to feel like the whole of the cosmos is looking down at her and laughing.

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when she does she dreams of green eyes, curly hair, and deep, dark loneliness.

 

_______

 

Violet wakes up to singing. She hears it coming through her door from the kitchen as the sun shines in her eyes, blinding and unwelcome. Her inner arm still throbs as does her head and the smell of bacon and eggs is making her queasy. She’s in desperate need of human contact, though, so she ventures to the kitchen in hopes that Dottie will cuddle her.

 

“Morning, Vi!” Dottie chirps from a stool at their breakfast bar shoveling food into her face at an alarming pace. Christine is singing along to Neko Case and dumps some food on a plate and then presents it to Violet like she’s lived there for years. Shaking her head Violet shuffles over to Dottie and wraps her arms around her from behind.

 

“Sup, babe?” Dottie asks, rubbing her hands over Violet’s. It calms her down enough that she disengages and holds her right arm out so they can see.

 

Dottie chokes on her bacon and grabs her outstretched arm. “Holy shit, Vi!” She says, tentatively touching the newly filled in mark. It’s so sensitive that Violet shudders and yanks her arm out of her roommate’s grasp.

 

“Wait, when did that happen?” Dottie asks, lifting her arm up again, but avoiding the mark itself. “Who is it?”

 

Violet feels teary again and so, so tired. “I don’t know his name, I didn’t realize when it was happening - I don’t know who it is. I mean I know who it _was_ . But I have no idea who it _is_. And, it hurts, does yours hurt?”

 

Christine crosses the kitchen, opens the freezer, and pulls their ice tray out. “This happened to a friend of mine. It’s normal for it to hurt if you’re not around them at first. Ice helps.” Violet just nods and lets herself be enveloped by her roommates long arms.

 

“I’m sorry to steal your thunder,” Violet whispers into her neck. “Same day and all.”

 

“We’re soulmate twins,” Dottie whispers back. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll put you on one of those websites, he probably already has himself.”

 

“Not so sure about that,” Violet whispers back vocalizing her fears for the first time.

 

The ice does help a little. It numbs her arm so she can’t feel the prickly stinging, but does nothing to calm the rapid beating of her heart against her ribs.

 

______

 

Harry wakes up in bed with Louis on one side and Niall on the other, both of them snoring loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. Still, Harry’s so grateful he could cry. They managed to get him into the house, even though he’d forgotten the gate code. He’s only lived there a couple of weeks so it’s still sparsely decorated, but it doesn’t explain why three grown men are squished into one bed. Whatever. It’s comforting, even if Louis’ feet smell and Niall is drooling on his shoulder.

 

As he was crawling over Niall to get to the bathroom, he wakes up.

 

“Time is it?” Niall asks and stretches out to check his phone on the bedside table.  “Fuck, Harry it’s only eight,” Niall grumbles, but gets up anyway. It’s a rare day off for them and they should be using it to rest, but Harry feels like he’s crawling out of his skin and he’s maybe going to be sick again.

 

“The website says it’s not good for you to be alone right now,” Niall says, following Harry to the bathroom.

 

“Website?” Harry asks.

 

“Yeah, Louis and I looked up what to do when this happens. Don’t be alone, ice your mark if it hurts, register your mark with some websites,” Niall continues as he walks into the bathroom with Harry.

 

“Does it say that you have to watch me take a piss?” Harry asks and cracks a smile for the first time in hours.

 

“Oh,” Niall stutters like he didn’t realize they were in a bathroom until just now, “No, sorry.” Niall makes a hasty retreat so Harry can pee in privacy.

 

Recalling the last night in his head, Harry’s chest constricts in shame. His mother had raised him to be a decent human being, and it’s always something he prides himself on. Being nice, that is. But he’d been so outwardly rude to that girl, his _soulmate_ for christsakes! Soulmate meetings are notoriously charged with emotions, but it’s not an excuse. He’s spent the last five years worried it would be the rags that drove his soulmate away. Turns out, he never needed them, he did a bang-up job of it on his own.

 

He starts the shower and lets the room get nice and steamy before he steps in and lets the water melt some of the tension away. Initially, he worries the hot water will agitate his mark because it already feels like a bad sunburn, but it doesn’t, thank God.

 

Observing the mark sober for the first time, Harry takes the time to admire it. He’s always been a bit obsessed with the thing, always thought it was beautiful even when it was just faint swirling white lines that one could only see up close. For that he was thankful. Because his mark was is in such an obvious place, running the length of his right forearm, it would have been easy for a fan or pap to get a pic. But his had always been so faint that no one could ever get a clear shot of the whole thing, and he was smart enough to cover it more often than not. But now there would be no hiding it.  Not unless he was going to wear long sleeve shirts for the rest of his life. No. It would take no time at all for the world to know he’d met his soulmate.

 

Poor girl.

 

She didn’t seem to recognize any of them and Harry doubts she knows what she’s in for. Under the steam of the shower his eyes burn with unshed tears on her behalf. Her life as she knew it is over. Guilt washes over him like the water from the showerhead. He never even thought about the effect his lifestyle would have on his future partner.

 

He wishes he knew something, anything about her to point him in the right direction in finding her. He’d do anything to get ahead of the mess they were about to find themselves in. But all he knows is her eyes are big and brown and her blonde hair looked windswept like a day at the beach. She’s _so_ beautiful, but that vague description applies to about ninety percent of girls in LA.

 

All he wants to do is hold her and tell her he’s sorry.

 

Harry is so fucked.

 

______

 

Violet spends her day with ice on her arm and her head in Dottie’s lap. After they take some pictures of her newly filled in mark and upload it to “Missing Mark” an app that helps track missed connections all over the world, there’s nothing left to do but wait and hope that Gucci shirt will do the same.

 

They get bored of cards after a while, then netflix, and take to channel surfing in the late afternoon while Violet attempts to draw. Making a living as an artist is hard and the last thing she can afford is laziness, especially now that she has to buy a new phone. Violet wonders if she could draw her soulmate from memory, but doesn't want to because it will only remind her of the annoyed look in his eyes. She settles on a tattoo for Christine instead.

 

Dottie is flipping through channels for the third time, a habit that drives Violet up the wall most of the time but she’s too tired to pay attention. Eventually, Dottie gets bored and settles on _Access Hollywood_.  Violet is half listening, bent over her sketchbook, as Christine and Dottie talk over the TV about what they want for dinner when something catches her ear.

 

“-Caught stumbling out of the club last night, his bandmates on either arm. Could it be that ladies man Harry Styles is partying too hard?” Violet hates that there’s an entire show dedicated to bullshit Hollywood gossip. It’s such trash, but she can’t help but glance up at the TV to look anyway. Her breath catches in her throat and her mark burns so bad she has to press the melting ice pack attached to her arm down into it because there he is. Her soulmate, drunk and clutching onto fluffy hair and the blonde one in front of Greystone Manor.

 

“What’s wrong, Vi?” Dottie asks and helps her with the ice pack.

 

Violet just points to the TV that’s showing a dark, grainy photo of her soulmate stumbling into a Range Rover. “It’s him. That’s him,” she says.

 

“-Harry Styles who was recently linked to Kendall Jenner-,” the TV switches to some pictures of Harry and Kendall kissing on a yacht and Violet feels sick, “-maybe their recent falling out has him reeling-”. Fast as lightning, Christine picks up the remote and shuts the TV off.

 

Violet stands up immediately. The room is too small for her to pace properly so she just spins in small circles in front of the coffee table like a deranged ballerina.  

 

“Are you sure, Vi?” Christine asks. Violet just nods and continues to walk the short length of their living room.

 

“Okay, no offense, but how did you not recognize him?” Dottie asks, voice gentle and soft, but Violet catches the disbelieving, exasperated look on her roommate’s face. And Violet loses it. Hysterical laughter bubbles up from her gut and she’s powerless to stop it.

 

After a few moments she’s laughing so hard she has to sit down on the floor as tears pour down the side of her face.

 

“Oh boy.” She hears Dottie say. “Vi-”

 

“He’s like-” Violet’s laughing so hard she has to force the words out, “sixteen years old, isn’t he?” She chokes on another peal of giggles and clutches her stomach.

 

“Yeah, like five years ago!” Christine argues, but she’s laughing too. Apparently Violet’s nervous breakdown is catching.

 

“What’s wrong with me, how did I not- ah- not know who he was?” Violet wipes the tears on her face. “And he’s dating a Kardashian,” she shrieks and falls onto her back and lets the laugher take it’s course.

 

“Of ALL the people in the WORLD!” She howls and rolls onto her side and sees them both look like they’re plotting to have her taken away. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Because of _course_ her soulmate is a womanizing baby of a popstar.

 

Of course.

 

_________

 

Louis and Niall spend the morning trying to console Harry. They eat the sparse food in his fridge and discuss his options. Niall tells him about “Missing Mark”, but they discover you can’t view anyone’s profiles on the app until you upload your own information and pictures. Harry doesn’t really have that luxury. But his mark burns, and he needs to get in front of this.  So, he calls Jeff.

 

“Hey, Harry!” His voice comes through the line, bright and sunny. “Did you have fun last night?” he asks.

 

“Well, no. Not really. Um, my mark filled in,” he says, deciding to get right to the point.

 

“Your- shit-  okay who’s the lucky lady. Or gentleman?” Jeff asks. Harry can tell his fighting between friend mode and manager mode. Harry explains the situation and when he finishes Jeff whistles.

 

“Okay, I’ll get around the whole app barier thing, no problem. Glenne can help with that. Just send me a picture of the mark and we’ll find her.”

 

“Yes. Thanks. Just, no press, okay? Not until I get to talk to her,” Harry requests.

 

“You sure? We can spin this in a great way for the band. You’re not looking too great today in the press.” He’s not pushing at all, but the idea of using his soulmate for publicity makes Harry physically ill.

 

“Jeff, I love you, but I want you think about what you just said to me,” Harry bristles. He and Jeff never really fight, but today might just be the day.

 

“Yes, you’re right. Totally crossing the line. I’ll let you know when I find her,” Jeff says and then hangs up. It doesn’t bother Harry. He knows how busy Jeff is and Harry just gave him a shitload to deal with.

 

_____

 

Violet’s gone down and internet rabbit hole. It took no time at all for her to cave and google “Harry Styles” and now she’s sitting under a blanket in her room watching interview after interview with One Direction. And she’s...confused. Because all she’s ever known about Harry Styles is that his hair’s a bit of a mop, he dates around, and his band sang that song that’s on one of her old running playlists. But that was ages ago.

 

Harry’s grown up since then. A lot. She figures it’s why she didn’t realize who he was. He’s only six months younger than she is, his hair is much longer, and he’s much more handsome. Also, he’s kind of a huge dork. He makes horrible jokes (that she laughs at anyway), he dances like a goob on stage, and seems to be a genuinely polite, kind person.

 

But then there’s things that scare her. Like the fact that everyone he’s ever dated is either a model or looks like a model, he’s mega world-wide famous, and he was rude to her. Not to mention nearly every article where his soulmark is mentioned it’s implied he wants nothing to do with it. Those people exist, though it’s rare. But they’re there; a small minority that thinks the whole idea of a soulmate is bogus and takes their free will away. They reject the idea altogether. And that's fair. Violet just never thought she’d be on the receiving end of it. It’s heart breaking and her mark hurts worse than ever, but she can’t stop picking at the hurt so she keeps reading articles and watching videos till she falls into a fitful sleep to the sound of Harry’s voice in her ears.

 

_____

 

Violet’s shaken awake by a frazzled looking Dottie. The sun’s out again and she wants to hiss at it. She’s in blinding pain. Her arm feels like someone doused it in icy-hot, her head is pounding, and her stomach is cramping from a lack of food.

 

“Violet, wake up babe!” Dottie’s eyes are wide and tearful and Christine is behind her rubbing her back. They both look worried, Dottie’s brow is creased and she’s biting her lip a tell tale sign she’s stressed. “We have to go to Christine’s.”

 

“Oh, okay. Have fun,” Violet yawns out and rolls over, though she’s sure she won’t be able to fall back asleep.

 

“No, we all have to go. The sooner the better. More just keep showing up!” Christine says. As if on cue, the doorbell rings. “Jesus!” She shouts and crosses the room to open up Violet’s closet, drags her beat up overnight bag out, and starts throwing Violet’s clothes haphazardly into it.

 

The doorbell rings again.

 

“Should I get that?” Violet asks and throws her duvet off her legs.

 

“No!” They both shout at the same time. Christine continues throwing her things in the bag. “Gonna go grab your bathroom stuff real quick,” she says and leaves the room.

 

“What’s going on? Are the British coming?” Violet jokes.

 

“They found out about your mark,” Dottie answers and crosses the room to close the blinds.

 

“Who’s ‘they’?” Violet asks, but opens her dresser to shimmy into some worn out jeans that have green paint splattered down the right leg.

 

“The paps, Violet. Your face is all over the internet and your address must be public information because there are about twenty leeches with cameras outside the house.”

 

Her top’s only half over her head, but she freezes. “How, the fuck-?” Violet says, her voice muffled by the sweatshirt over her face.

 

“A picture of his mark leaked. Or maybe he released it to find you? I don’t know, it’s out there. It’s _everywhere_! And someone found your posting from yesterday and -” someone knocks on the front door “fuck! We have to sneak out. We’re going through the back and hiding you at Christine’s house.”

 

“Done!” Christine says, popping her head back in the room. “You ready to go?”

 

“Umm-” Violet’s brain is having a hard time keeping up and her eyes prickle with tears and embarrassment. But she grabs her laptop and sketchbook and slips them in her backpack anyway.

 

“I’m going to get the car, I’ll meet you on the next block,” Dottie says peering out the front blinds.

 

“They’ll take your picture!” Christine protests and tries to hold her back.

 

“And no one will want to buy it. I’ll see you in a minute!” She answers and sneaks out the front door. The shuttering clicks of cameras and voices yelling filter through the open door and are muffled just as fast as the door slams shut behind her.

 

Christine grabs Violet’s sweaty, shaking hand and leads her out the back door. The pap hiding in the bushes gets several shots of them before they notice and have to break into a run.

 

_____

 

Harry rarely gets properly angry. He can count the number of times he’s been this furious on one hand. Like the time the paps knocked Niall to the ground at LAX, and the day that Zayn left them for good. But this tops them all. He’s going to sue the person who leaked his mark to the press for everything they’re worth. The fifty thousand better have been worth it, because when he’s done with them they’ll be homeless. Destitute. Banished.

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he won’t. That small, rational voice telling him that it was inevitable, that there’s nothing to be done will win out in the end. But now, he’s out for blood.

 

Violet’s picture -her name is Violet and she’s _perfect-_  is everywhere. It’s plastered all over the news and internet, her scared face displayed side by side with his mark. They swarmed her house and ran her down like a fox. In all the pictures she looks scared and desperate. Harry aches to fix it, but he’s stuck in his own home, afraid to go out himself. He doesn’t want to give the paps anymore fuel for the fire.

 

“Oh no, Harry! She’s a Bear’s fan,” Niall says from his perch on the kitchen counter. He’s been powering through her various social media sites since the news broke. “It’ll keep things spicy!”

 

“Would you stop?” Harry barks at him. Now’s really not the time. And fuck The Bears.

 

“Come on! It’s not that bad,” Niall says, but locks his phone, jumps off the counter, and heads towards the fridge. Niall bought beer for them last night and cracks two open for them even though Harry rarely drinks beer and it’s only eleven am.

 

“Not that bad? Her face is plastered all over the internet, there are people sending her death threats on twitter-”

 

“Just another day in the life,” Niall sing-songs and goes back to stalking Harry’s soulmate on his phone.

 

“Another day in _our_ life, Niall,” Harry argues, but crosses the kitchen to peer over Niall's shoulder at his phone.

 

“Shit! She’s made it private,” Niall huffs, pads across the cold wood of the floors, throws himself on Harry’s cream colored couch, and turns his TV on.

 

“Good,” Harry says and joins him. “This is a disaster,” Harry mumbles moments later. Niall just hums in agreement. Because this isn’t how it was supposed to be.

 

It was supposed to be fireworks and rainbows and butterflies. Harry was supposed to meet her in a record store, their hands reaching for the same Paul Simon album. They were supposed to come together in private, safe from the prying eyes of the world, a refuge for each other. Together and inseparable. Invincible. But he feels the delicate fabric of their bond tearing, like tissue paper and he’s powerless to stop it. To protect them. He _hates_ it.

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket moments later. It’s Jeff.

 

“What the hell happened?” Harry demands the moment he accepts the call.

 

“Someone Glenne works with leaked it. They’ve been dealt with,” he answers.

 

“Dealt with? How? Firing isn’t enough, Jeff because-”

 

“I can let you rant or I can give you the good news,” Jeff says.

 

“What good news can you possibly have for me?” Harry snaps. God, his forearm hurts so bad.

 

“I have her number.”

 

____

 

Violet fell asleep in the burnt orange late afternoon sunlight on Christine’s couch. They did escape, but not after several, rather unflattering pictures made their way onto the internet. Her face is everywhere, Buzzfeed, E! News, Access Hollywood, Perez Hilton. Even Time magazine blasted her information and life story in several succinct, but mostly incorrect paragraphs for the world to read.

 

So, it was either obsess over everything about her on the internet, or sleep. She chose sleep.

 

She wakes up to hushed whispers and a hand in her hair.

 

“We ordered a pizza,” Dottie says, smoothing the flyaways from her forehead and setting a plate of pepperoni and jalapeno pizza in front of her.  

 

“Thanks.” She reaches for the pizza and her laptop to check her text messages. With a busted phone, the only way Violet can check her phone is through her Mac. There are one hundred and forty five missed calls and an almost equal number of voicemails. The first one is a reporter, the second one is a reporter, and the third one is a reporter who doesn’t speak English. Her number must have been public too. Super.

 

She deletes them one by one, just to make sure none of them are from her mom or friends or someone calling about a commission. It’s exhausting and by the end her ears are ringing.

 

Finally done, she digs into the pizza because she’s barely eaten anything in the past forty-two hours and pepperoni and jalapeno pizza is her favorite. God bless the delivery person. Why couldn’t they have been her soulmate?

 

Her open computer dings again, another voicemail coming through.

 

“Fucking WHAT?” She yells, finally losing it, tears springing up in her eyes. She feels so alone. Completely abandoned in the middle of an ocean with shark fins circling around her sinking raft. And her mood swings are getting out of hand, a side effect of a missing soulmate according to several websites. And she’s aware it’s getting worse, but she can’t control it.

 

Taking several large calming breaths she clicks on the notification.

 

“Hi. Hello. Violet. I hope this is Violet. My manager gave me - I hope I’m not bothering you or anything - “ Violet immediately calms and maxes the volume on her computer so she can hear it better, “It’s Harry. Harry Styles. I’m calling because well. You know.” There’s a prolonged pause and she can hear him take a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry. About everything. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. I never wanted.. maybe, can you just call me back? My number is -” Harry spits out his number and then the line goes dead. Violet pulls her headphones out of her backpack, shoves them in her ears, and listens to the message again.

 

Harry’s voice is like honey on a warm summer’s day all spread out and gooey over buttery toast. It’s calming, like rainfall, and a bit drawling. It’s something she noticed while watching several dozen interviews of him on youtube, but now that it’s directed at her, for her, it’s a thousand times better.

 

She listens to it seven times before she even thinks to call back.

 

_______

 

Harry continues to drink beer even after Niall’s left and the sun has set in the sky. He feels empty and alone in his too big house. Why did he even buy it in the first place? Sometimes he feels like there’s not enough years in a human life to actually put down roots. How does anyone ever manage it? He used to love jetsetting around the globe and meeting new people every day. It used to be what he lived for. Now he’s just tired.

 

They’re coming up on their break, over a year off. Harry wants to enjoy it; no one’s earned it more than the four of them. But Niall’s leaving for vacation soon, Liam’s got his new projects, and Louis has the baby. Harry can’t help but feel like he has nothing. Of all of them he’s had his head in the clouds the most, he knows that. Now, though, he feels left behind. While the rest of them were investing in some sort of settled future, Harry spent vacations in St. Barth’s and slept in people’s spare rooms rather than decorate his own house.

 

And, the truth is, he was banking on his soulmate to settle him down a bit. It’s always been his plan; to calm down once they met. But that feels fucked now and it’s heartbreaking because he doesn’t want to spend his whole life staring at blank, unpainted walls and eating from takeaway containers by himself.

 

While the boys were making a small group of really close, trusted friends Harry was meeting anyone and everyone. Spreading himself thin from group to group and he feels like, besides the boys, he doesn’t have anyone to rely on. No one calls him anymore because they assume he’s busy. He rarely is anymore. It’s lonely.

 

The chorus of ‘The Macarena’ sounds from his phone, shaking him out of his runaway thoughts. Louis constantly steals his phone to reset the ring tone. Harry has no idea how he keeps guessing the passcodes; he changes them almost weekly.  He doesn’t recognize the number, but that’s nothing new.

 

“Hello,” Harry says.

 

“Is this Harry?” A voice asks. Harry immediately sits up, spine cracking as it straightens.

 

“Violet?”

 

“Yes, this is Violet,” she answers, then clears her throat.

 

“Um-”

 

“Are you okay?” He asks her immediately because it’s been bothering him all day. Is she okay? Does she hate him already? Because it’s only been forty-eight hours and he’s already ruined her life.

 

“I’ve been better,” she answers. Harry can hear the waver in her voice. “My arm hurts.”

 

“Mine too. Like someone took a hot iron to it.”

 

“That sounds about right,” she laughs and the tightness in Harry’s chest loosens a fraction.

 

“Who’s phone are you calling from?” Harry asks after a beat of silence.

 

“My housemate’s. Mine’s broken.”

 

Harry feels the guilt like a knife in his gut. “Fuck. Yes. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I just-” Harry puts his free hand over his eyes and rubs at them. “I’d like to talk to you in person, if I can? The sooner the better.”

 

“Like, tonight?”

 

“Yeah, if it’s possible. I can send a car for you. It will be discreet, I promise.” Harry holds his breath.

 

“Okay. It’s not like I have anything else to do. There aren’t any paparazzi outside your house are there? I’d like to keep the number of unflattering pictures of me to a minimum.”

 

“No,” Harry rushes out. “I live in a gated community. No paps allowed. They don’t even know where I live so you’ll be safe here.”

 

“That sounds alright then,” she says. They exchange information and Harry calls his driver immediately after they hang up, eager to see her again. He aches to to be near her and explain himself. He hopes he can salvage the situation before it’s irreparably damaged.

 

______________

 

Violet’s in the poshest part of LA. She knows this not only by the size and extravagance of the houses they whizz by, but also because she’s never even been here. And yes, the fact that she’s lived in LA for a year and half and has never been to Beverly Hills is slightly embarrassing. This fact makes her even more aware of the holes in her shoes and the paint on her clothes. And she really should have brushed her hair.

 

She’s in a Range Rover (which she swore she’d never do because they’re horrible for the environment and take up too much parking space on the street) that has leather seats and smells like Tom Ford cologne and money. It’s making her feel insignificant and horribly out of place and she hasn’t even arrived at Harry’s house yet.

 

She’s rummaging through her backpack for a comb or lipstick or _something_ when they stop at imposing looking gates. She hands over identification, hoping to god the security guard there has signed some sort of NDA. Before she has time to find something in her bag to help her appearance, they’re pulling into another gated driveway and she’s opening the car door with shaking hands.

 

Harry’s house is insane. So insane, in fact, that she can’t find where the doorbell is. The front door is actually two doors. They’re huge and ornate and she’s just about to use one of the large decorative iron knockers when the door swings open.

 

And there’s Harry.

 

He’s devastatingly beautiful, even though he looks tired, the buttons are done up wrong on his shirt, and his hair’s a mess. It’s long and tangled and Violet wants to run her hands through it just to hear him sigh.

 

She also wants to throw herself in his arms and never let go. So. Yeah.

 

And the thing is she has an excuse, but she’s not entirely unconvinced that he’s invited her here to let her down gently. He seems like a genuinely nice person, from all the creepy stalker research she’s been doing on the internet. But, from what she’s gathered, he’s pretty anti soulmate. Probably even more so now that he knows his soulmate is a short, poor artist from Michigan. She’s not exactly his type. And although Violet thinks she’s pretty great and objectively attractive she worries she’s a let down to someone whose last three girlfriends were Victoria’s Secret models.

 

So she’d love to kiss him stupid, but she’s fairly certain she’s not allowed.

 

Which is why it comes as a complete surprise to her when he grabs both her hands and gently tugs her inside his house. Mansion. He slips the strap of her backpack off her shoulder, places it on the floor, and pulls her into his arms.

 

Her arms reach up his back and she holds onto his shirt for dear life. The material is silky against her palms and his back is broad and tense. Her forehead presses against his sternum and she breathes deeply for the first time in two days. He smells like day old cologne and grass and is rubbing his hands up and down her back while she cries quietly on him. His cheek is wet against the top of her head.

 

Violet wants to live the rest of her life in his foyer as long as they can stay like this because being held by her soulmate is just as good as she’s always imagined it to be. Better, actually.

 

The best thing is that her mark doesn’t hurt anymore. In the span of two days, she’d forgotten what it’s like not to be in blinding pain. It’s bliss no to want to chop her own arm off.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry eventually chokes out. She holds him tighter.

 

“For what?” Violet asks.

 

Harry haves a great sigh and untangles their bodies. Looking at the floor, shoulders hunched he barely shrugs and says, “Everything.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“For what,” he finally meets her eyes. They’re red and wet and big and startled looking, like a deer caught by a hunter. It’s breaking her heart.

 

“Just, you’re sad.” Violet reaches for his hand and he lets her take it. It’s soft and warm and she notices the tangerine swirls on his forearm for the first time, identical to hers in all but color. Before she knows what she’s doing, her finger traces along its intricate lines. Her mark, _their_ mark, is bigger and more intricate than most. She used to think it was a bit much. Gaudy. But on Harry it’s so beautiful that she realizes her’s must be too.

 

He shivers a bit as her finger follows the design.

 

“Where’s yours,” he breathes. She drops his hand, shrugs out of her jacket, and lifts up her arm so he can see. Stepping closer he traces the skin of her bicep. It feels so good, so unlike anything else she’s ever felt that she involuntarily draws in an audible breath. Harry smirks at her, pleased with himself and continues to examine it with his hands.

 

“I really love the color,” he remarks.

 

“Yeah? I think it looks a bit like a big bruise.”

 

“No, it’s perfect. You know,” he takes his finger and pokes her collarbone. “Violet,” and moves his finger and pokes her mark, “Violet!”

 

She snorts out a laugh and the intensity of the moment is broken and not in a bad way. Which is a relief. Feeling like she can breathe again, she smiles at him for real and he wipes his eyes and chuckles. He looks half embarrassed and half relieved. It’s nice to know they’re on the same page.

 

Picking up her backpack and taking her hand he leads her through the large foyer and into a larger living room. It’s sparsely decorated with just a comfy looking couch and besides the TV the walls are bare. Behind the living room is a dining area with no table and beyond that, a huge kitchen with no stools at the breakfast bar.

 

“Just move in?” She asks.

 

“Sort of,” he responds and leads her into the kitchen. “Bought it a while ago but I’ve been on tour and promoting the new album so I haven’t had time to put anything together, really. Beer?” He extends a bottle out to her.

 

“Bud Lite? Really?” She asks. Because she’s standing in a multi-million dollar home and is being offered beer that even _she’s_ too pretentious to drink.

 

“Oh, do you not like it? Um, I think I have some wine,” he rounds the expansive island, opens up the wine fridge under the granite counter, and presents her with what she’s certain is a five hundred bottle of wine. She giggles because when did her life become a showcase for the absurd?

 

“Do you have anything that tastes better than Bud Lite but doesn’t cost more than my rent?” She asks and then wonders if that will offend him. He’s being so lovely, but he was just crying and she doesn’t want to be a jerk.

 

“I have water!” He announces triumphantly and beams at her, dimples out and looking rather pleased with himself.

 

“Perfect!”

 

_____________

 

Harry can’t stop staring at his soulmate. Mostly because she’s so beautiful. Her skin glows from time in the sun and an internal light that seems to shine under her skin. He’s quite certain he’s going to write a song just about her skin, then her eyes. Chocolate brown and impossibly large. He’s always thought all women are beautiful, makeup or not, but Violet looks like the sort of girl who rolls out of bed looking like a Disney princess.

 

She’s kind of perfect and Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s never had this problem before. It’s unnerving.

 

They’ve also had steady conversation since they sat down, easy questions bouncing back and forth between them like a friendly game of tennis. Harry’s never felt so at ease with someone, which makes sense because no one was ever going to be more perfect for him than her.

 

“You have five brothers?” Harry asks.

 

“Five older brothers, yup,” Violet answers and take a sip from her mug full of wine. He’d coaxed her into drinking it after assuring her it was a gift. He also made her feel better about it by putting it in a mug.

 

“What’s that like?” He asks.

 

“Loud.”

 

Harry squawks out a laugh and then slaps his hands over his mouth a little embarrassed, but Violet just smiles. Its nice. He can’t remember the last time he’s had such a nice time.  

 

“What about you?” She asks and puts her empty mug on the floor.

 

“Just me and Gems. Fairly quiet. We played a lot of scrabble,” Harry answers and leans his body against the couch.

 

“Party animals,” Violet says and mirrors his position. They watch each other for a moment. Harry studies her face always wanting to remember how she looks in this moment, flush and sleepy.

 

“Can I use your bathroom?” She asks after a moment.

 

“Down the hall, second door on the right,” Harry answers. After she disappears down the hall he collects her mug from the floor and walks through the empty dining room to put it in the sink. He rummages through his cabinets looking for some food, but he can’t remember the last time he went grocery shopping. It’s always such a production, pictures and paps and parking tickets. The latter are always his fault. But still.

 

“You have a Basquiat!?” He hears Violet behind him and turns to see her wide eyes and bemused expression. Harry just shrugs at her. She must have seen it in the hallway hanging just opposite the bathroom. It’s not the ideal place for it, but Harry hasn’t had time to find a place for it and the house had a few pre existing nails when he moved in, so he hung it there until he can fix the study up.

 

“You don’t have hand soap in the bathroom, but you have a four million dollar Basquiat?”

 

“I don’t have hand soap in the bathroom?” Harry asks, horrified. “And how do you know how much it cost?”

 

Violet crosses through the kitchen to wash her hands in the kitchen sink with some dish soap and Harry is thoroughly embarrassed.

 

“I took a modern art class just like everyone else in art school,” she says and then holds her dripping hands over the sink looking around for a towel to dry them on.

 

“Oh, sorry, um, here,” Harry mumbles looking around for a towel even though he knows he doesn’t have one so he takes the front of his shirt and begins wiping her hands off with the silky material. Pink spreads across Violet’s face like ivy and Harry’s suddenly very aware how close they are. He can feel her warm breath puffing against his neck, her hair smells like coconuts and rainfall.

 

After her hands are mostly dry Violet meets his eye. She looks terrified, but determined as she slips her hands under the damp material of his shirt and lays her warm palms flat against his stomach. He leans into the touch immediately and backs her up slowly until her back meets the kitchen island.

 

If asked later, Harry wouldn’t be able to recall who moved first or how long they stared at each other before they started kissing. All he would tell you is that kissing your soulmate for the first time is like getting the answer to a long asked question, like being told what the meaning of life is, it’s like everything and nothing he’s ever experienced before. It’s perfection.

 

Their lips move together like a well choreographed dance, yet every move, every nuance takes him by surprise. He doesn’t remember lifting her on the island, but it must be how she got there, her legs wrapped around his hips holding him close. They’re flush from the waist up, and all Harry can think is more, more, more. Because there's certainly nothing more important than this moment right here right now.

 

___________

 

Violet’s head is swimming because Harry kisses in color. Green like spring and blue like the rolling ocean. Yellow like starshine and red like the beating of her heart, rapid and thundering against her ribs. Nothing has ever felt like this. It’s the kind of kiss that makes her sad she’ll never get to experience it for the first time ever again. Kissing Harry is the most calming high she’s ever had. She’s addicted.

 

But scared. And confused. Because she was so sure Harry brought her over to gently explain that he’s not interested and now that she’s had the smallest piece of him she’s not sure she’ll survive the sting of rejection.

 

So she pushes him back even though it's physically painful to do so. She can feel him shake his head and chase her mouth, but her resolve holds. Barely.

 

“Wait,” she says her palm against his bared sternum, the necklaces there sharp against her skin.

 

“Hmm?” He hums and rests his forehead against hers, his breathing slightly labored.

 

“I’m. I don’t know. I’m confused?” He detaches from her a bit to look at her. His eyes are green and hazy and Violet will spend the rest of her days trying to paint them perfectly.

 

“What about?” He asks and runs his finger down the length of her nose and he’s far too distracting for either of their goods.

 

“I just. I don’t think that I can handle the - I can’t just do casual with you. I don’t think I would recover.” Her face is on fire and she feels very pathetic. Harry takes a step back so they’re no longer touching. It’s wretchedly painful.

 

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks. His arms are crossed over his chest like he’s trying to protect himself.

 

“It’s okay,” she forces out even though the words are a lie and they can both tell, “It’s okay that you don’t want a soulmate. I get it. I think, just to protect myself, you know? Like maybe I should leave?”

 

Harry looks devastated and angry, his nose flares out and his eyes look like lightening. Violet feels her heart crumbling and breaking apart inside her chest. Her mark might be throbbing again, or it might be her imagination. Either way, she can barely stand it. Harry nods at her once and leaves the kitchen, walks through the living room, and disappears through the dark hallway.

 

Violet stumbles off the counter and drags her feet through the living room to grab her backpack. It feels heavy in her hand, but she heaves it over her shoulder and makes her way back to the foyer.

 

“You can’t get back through the gates without the passcode, you know?” Harry says from behind her and scares her so bad she nearly falls over. He looks so sad, his eyes are watering a little and he’s holding a worn out journal in his hand.

 

“I know there’s a lot about me you think you know and that’s fair. But before you go, can you read this?” He holds the journal out to her and she accepts it without thinking. The worn buttery leather is soft under her fingers as she watches him walk out through the living room and through the back door into the darkness of the backyard. He clearly wants to be left alone. She can respect that.

 

Violet curls back up on the couch and opens the journal.

 

_______

 

Harry’s shivering in a chair by his small pool. Leaves and twigs from the tree above have fallen into the water clogging the filter. It desperately needs to be cleaned out and Harry could walk around the edge to retrieve the pool net, but he won’t. He feels too frayed at the edges, too anxious to even turn around to check if Violet’s still on the couch reading, or if she’s cut her loses and run.

 

So he sits and waits because all his worst fears are coming true and he’s too paralyzed by terror to do anything but watch the slow moving car crash of this day come to a fiery  conclusion.

 

He should have explained himself. He should have gotten down on his knees and begged. He should have put his foot down with his management a long, long time ago. But instead he waits, hoping the contents of his journal, the deepest most hidden parts of himself, are enough for her to see. To understand.

 

The sun is just coming up when he feels a hand in his hair. He pushes into it immediately chasing the warmth against the cold February dawn. Violet rounds the chair and comes to stand in front of him constantly running her hand through his hair. Harry pushes his face into her stomach and rubs his cheek against the soft cotton of her shirt. They stay in that posture for a while just holding each other as the sun rises.

 

Eventually she steps back and offers his journal back to him. Harry’s heart’s in his stomach and his eyes sting with tears.

 

“Okay,” she says, smiling wide and unguarded.

 

“Okay?”

 

“I think that’s something I can do,” she says. Happier than he’s ever felt in his life Harry pulls her into his lap and wraps his arms around her waist, holding on tight. Violet’s face is in his neck and her cheeks are warm and wet against his chilled skin.

 

“That’s excellent news,” he breathes into her hair. “And it’s yours.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The journal is yours. That was the point of me keeping it all this time.” Harry can feel her smile against his neck.

 

Violet clears her throat, “Can I stay the night?”

 

“S’morning, love. But of course. You can stay as long as you want.”

 

They cling to each other on the way back into the house.

 

__________

 

Violet’s not a blushing virgin, but being with Harry feels like the first time. It’s more intense, more passionate and connected then she’s ever felt to another person. They move together like instruments playing a duet. She never wants anyone else. Ever.

 

She tells him as much after they make love the second time. Violet’s wrapped around him from behind, holding his waist and breathing heavily against his shoulder. Harry starts humming Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” so Violet climbs on top of him and kisses him till he stops. They exchange lazy, smiling kisses till they fall asleep in the glowing morning light.

 

She wakes up when the sun’s high in the sky her face tucked into Harry’s shoulder. He’s on his back, breathing shallow, long curls tangled on the pillows around his head.  She wants to paint him and smiles when she realizes that she can now. Padding across the room, Violet rifles through her bag for her pencils. They’re sharp from disuse. She rarely uses her pencils anymore now that she makes most of her money from her paintings; her sketchings gone to the wayside.

 

She crawls back onto the bed and opens up the journal Harry gave her. Violet read it all previous night, its contents ranging from lyrics to letters to journal entries, a long love letter Harry’s been writing to her for years. Proof he’s wanted her all along. But it’s still only about half full. Opening to the last page with writing she runs her fingers over the bumps and ridges of the dried ink and smiles again.

 

Her sharp, black pencil begins to shade the blank page opposite the letter that changed her mind, the explanation she needed to stay. As Violet draws she glances from Harry’s face, to the letter, to the curves of the lines she draws on the cream colored page.

 

_I met you last night. And, after years of imagining a thousand perfect scenarios as to how meeting my soulmate would be, I royally fucked it up. And now I’ve said the word fuck in the first two sentences of this letter. That’s the least of my worries, I suppose. Still. Sorry. I just want to give you something beautiful. So here it goes._

 

_Horrible first impressions aside, you didn’t seem to recognize me. Even if you did, I’m sure you have about a million different questions and even more assumptions. Assumptions about me, about what I want, or rather, don’t want from you. Who I am. Who you are to me. That’s completely fair. I understand. You must be scared, confused, and angry. I wouldn’t want me as a soulmate either, not because of how I plan to treat you. I plan to treat you with respect and love, eternally grateful you exist and that you’re mine, if you’ll let me. But you didn’t chose this life. Now you’re stuck with it. And I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am._

 

_I’ve been selfish more times in my life than I care to admit. But I’m about to do the most selfish thing I’ve ever done and ask you to give me a chance. Please. Give me a chance to show you what you mean to me. A chance to love you. To go to sleep with me and wake up in the morning. I want to hold your hand when you’re happy and sad. I want to make you eggs in the morning just the way you like and take naps in the sunshine. I want you._

 

_So my very selfish question is this; can you give me that chance? I’m just asking for a chance. If that’s something you can find it in yourself to do, that would be quite a relief._

 

_All the love always_

_-H_

 

She was sold before the letter, of course. By page five of the journal it was evident to Violet that Harry isn’t who he’s sold to be. The only thing that breaks her heart as she draws him, his eyes fluttering through a dream, that he doesn’t seem to realize how lovely he is. He’s sweet, and rambles a little when he tells a story. He has the tattoos of an aged sailor and the heart of puppy and Violet loves him already. She plans on showing it to him everyday because he needs it and she wants to make him happy more more than she wants to paint.

 

So it goes with soulmates, but she can’t help but feel like they’re special. They’re different. They’re perfect.

 

Harry stirs when the sun’s still high and her drawing is nearly complete. One green eye cracks open and looks up at her, he smiles and rolls over to hook his arm around her leg and push his face into it.

 

“Watching me while I sleep?” He croaks into her skin. She’s already addicted to the sound of his voice in the morning.

 

“Drawing,” she corrects and tries to untangle his hair a little.

 

“S’bit creepy, don’t you think?” He says, but smiles and she can tell he loves it.

 

“It’s romantic.”

 

“Mmmm,” he half agrees and lets her pet his hair.

 

“You hungry?” He asks after a while.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Eggs?” He suggests and then stretches out the length of the bed and sits up to kiss her, and she grins into it because it’s only been a day and he’s already keeping his promises.

 

_______

 

They spend the day together. Harry finds out that Violet’s favorite kind of eggs are scrambled which he makes for her because he’s great at making eggs and it’s the only real food he has in the house. They take a quick shower together and Harry let’s Violet borrow a jumper and they kill some time cuddling on the couch watching Friends reruns and trying to throw popcorn into each others mouths. Harry had found some he got in a gift basket from some place or another.

 

There’s only a handful of times in the past five years that Harry wasn’t afraid. That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his life, his family and friends. He has an amazing career and thanks whatever gods he can for the dumb luck that got him here. But he’s alway afraid. Of silly things mostly, but sometimes it’s bigger. Like he’s made mistakes or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time with the wrong people.

 

Now, though, wrapped around his soulmate everything feels perfect and sturdy for the first time in a long time. Maybe ever.

 

“Hey,” he says, lifting his head from her chest.

 

“Hey!” She pokes her finger in his dimple making Harry smile wider.

 

“Wanna go for a drive?” He suggests. Violet’s body goes tense underneath him.

 

“What?” He asks and sits all the way up.

 

“Won’t people take pictures?” She asks.

 

“Maybe. Probably.”

 

“I just - how do you stand it?” She asks and reaches for his hand.

 

“Guess I’m just used to it. We can stay here if you want,” he says and goes to lay back down.

 

Violet sits up, though. “We can go.” Harry pulls in his lip a bit worried she’s not really okay with it. But then she says, “Let’s go!” And hops up from the couch.

 

“Yeah?” He says, but they’re already heading for the door hand in hand.

 

“Yeah. We were going to run out of eggs eventually,” Violet says and sighs a little too loudly for it to be genuine.  Harry just grins at her.

 

__________________

 

Three hours and some drive-through burgers later Violet is bundled up on the beach somewhere in Santa Barbara with Harry sharing a crumpled bag of fries. They’re alone for now. The stopped at In -N- Out burger and garnered some stares and a few not so discreet pictures, but nothing too crazy.  It’s a nice baby step.

 

They’re watching birds fly above the waves, chasing the last bit of sunlight before the temperature drops and they’ll have to leave. Harry breaks the silence first, “Can I see what you drew this morning?”

 

Violet unzips her bag and hands Harry the journal she’d carefully tucked into it before they left. Flipping through it Harry groans.

 

“Some of this older stuff is a little embarrassing.”

 

“I think it’s sweet! Although sixteen year old Harry was a bit of a sap. In one poem you used the word ‘baby’ twelve times,” she teases and is far too pleased with herself when he turns bright red.

 

“I should take this back, you know. If this makes it way on the internet, I can never leave the house again.”

 

“Don’t you dare!” Violet grabs at the journal again, but Harry’s long arm keeps it out of her reach and he kisses her on the nose to distract her.

 

They settle back into each other and Harry finally flips to the last page. He studies her rough sketch with a crease between his eyebrows. Violet finds the silence deafening.

 

“You don’t like it.” It’s not a question.

 

“I-” Harry clears his throat, “is this how you see me?” He asks her, but he doesn’t sound angry.

 

“It’s not finished yet,” she defends.

 

Harry shakes his head, “It’s beautiful. I really, really like it.” And Violet gets it now. Harry must not see himself the way she does. That’s okay, they can work on that.

 

The sun is dipping low in the sky and the chilly February air is beginning to creep into her fingers. She burrows into Harry’s side and leans her head on his shoulder.

 

There’s still so much to figure out. Violet knows they can’t live in a bubble forever. Parents will have to be called, living arrangements eventually figured out. Harry mentioned that they’ll probably have to do some sort of informal interview, maybe a couple of planned pap outings just so things settle and the media can move on to the next story. It’s all very daunting, but less so with Harry’s arm around her. Under it she feels secure and complete.

 

She runs her finger on the lowest part of Harry’s mark that’s peeking out from underneath his coat and swears she feels the mirrored ghost of the touch on her mark.  

 

They watch the sunset like that. Quiet and together. The colors of the sky mold and amalgamate as the sun hangs low over the water, its glowing neon orange a beautiful contrast to the purple clouds that hover just above it. The vibrant tangerine and deep, dark purple matching the exact colors of their marks. They compliment each other beautifully; a perfect harmony of color in the sky. And, second to Harry of course, Violet thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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